


Hold Me

by Auggusst



Series: Heart and Mind [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Baby Peter Parker, Based on a Fleetwood Mac Song, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Fleetwood Mac References, Fluff, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Music, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Superfamily, Toddlers, marked teen instead of general audiences bc of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: Steve walks in on his husband and toddler dancing around a messy bedroom. He, naturally, has to join in.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Heart and Mind [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670740
Comments: 65
Kudos: 624





	Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

> In a rare moment of happiness, I had the house to myself yesterday, and the sun was shining, and this song, one of my favorites, came on the radio. So naturally I picked up my dog and danced around to it. And then I thought of this.  
> I told you guys I'd end up writing out of order! Just a taste of what we're working towards lmfao. The trials and tribulations will be well worth it for stuff like this, imo.
> 
> Please listen to the song if you've never heard it! or listen to it again bc I LOVE Fleetwood Mac.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LGMBmPdgDE

“God, I forgot how much work cleaning is,” Tony muttered, sitting back on his haunches.

His back kind of ached from dragging the boxes out of the closet and into the bedroom, and being bent over so long. (Funny how he never got those aches fooling around in bed though). But, it was time for holiday cleaning, and Tony had been putting off looking through these boxes for years. He wasn’t even sure what was _in_ most of them.

“Clean?” he heard Peter’s little voice pipe up behind him, across the room.

The little noise-making toy he held in his hands jingled, and Tony turned to look at him. He was standing in his crib, a fist wrapped around the toy and the other at the edge of it. God, he was adorable. His curls were precious, honey brown, and the curiosity in his big dark eyes, eyes like Tony, told Tony he was being thoroughly watched. Peter always watched intently. He liked to discover things, to learn. Tony swore up and down that he would be a scientist one day, and Steve agreed.

Not to brag, but their little boy was really smart. And sure, all first time parents said that about their kids, but for them, it was true. Pete had started walking and talking pretty early on, of course. He didn’t take well to stagnation either, which was a blessing and a curse. He could get bored quite easily, which left him needing almost constant supervision, and learning material, or else the rambunctious two year old (well, a year and 10 months) would make his own entertainment. That was why Tony had stuck him safely in his crib, where he couldn’t get into any mischief, and Tony could get his work done in peace while Steve was out shopping.

His baby seemed entertained by Tony’s sorting efforts at least. The pile of unfamiliar boxes littered around the master bedroom, each revealing untold treasures (old notebooks, out of fashion clothes, and knickknacks and awards earned over the years) was much more interesting than Peter’s regular toys, and he eagerly wanted to investigate.

He shook the crib, asked again, “Mommy cleaning?”

“Yeah, I’m cleaning,” Tony said, pulling open another box. “I’m looking through everything, seeing what I’m gonna keep, and what I’m gonna give away.”

He grimaced, catching sight of a fanny pack in this particular box. That was one fashion trend he wished would stay in the past.

“Definitely getting rid of _that_ ,” the brunet muttered. There was an old Air Force sweater beneath it though, one Tony had stolen from Rhodey. He held it up, inspected the garment. It made him smile a little.

“Looks like this box isn’t a total loss, Pete.”

His son was suspiciously quiet though, and there was a distinct lack of ear-rattling toy jingles, and Tony knew immediately something was up.

“What are you up to, Petey-pie?” He turned around.

Peter, the little rascal, was in fact, in the process of climbing out of his crib.

Before Tony had time to have a heart attack, he had swung himself up and over the edge of the crib with surprising grace, dangled for just a second, and then his feet landed on the floor. The toddler swayed a little, but was otherwise completely fine, a self-satisfied, maybe even smug, grin on his face.

Tony was astounded. He scrambled to his feet, crossed the room.

“Peter!” he said, partly in admonishment, partly impressed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Clean,” Peter replied, as if it were obvious.

That was pretty adorable, Tony could admit. His little boy wanted to help him look through boxes. It seemed Steve’s penchant for helpfulness had sunk in to Peter quickly. But fuck, he’d climbed _out of the crib_ , and by the confidence he displayed, it probably wasn’t the first time. Had he been practicing while they weren’t looking? Baby jail was apparently no match for Peter. They’d have to do something about that.

Right now though, Tony just thanked his stars that the kid didn’t get hurt, and swept him into his arms. His familiar scent gave Tony a surge of contentment, and it was mutual. Peter had always been pretty attached to his momma, just as Tony was loathe to leave him for more than a day. They relied on each other, on the sure and steady connection. Peter adored Steve too, loved his daddy with all his heart, but was unabashedly a momma’s boy.

Peter’s little hands looped around his neck, and Tony smiled, pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. It was hard to stay mad at him, when he was sweet like this. The kid could have a temper too, a big one at that, and sometimes screamed and screamed and _screamed_ , but was usually in good spirits.

“You wanna help me clean?” Tony asked.

He didn’t mind involving Peter in his activities. He loved it actually. He remembered too many disappointments in his own childhood, too many times trying to reach out to his mother or father and being brushed aside or yelled at. Tony would never brush his child aside, would make sure he never felt unloved. “You can help me clean. Just don’t give me a heart attack like that again.”

Peter hummed a little, and reached past Tony, opening and closing his fist in the direction of the boxes.

Tony shifted Peter in his grasp, held his little hand to get his attention. “Hey, you hear me, you little criminal? No more climbing.”

The toddler made a noise of confirmation, and squirmed in Tony’s arms, desperate to get to the boxes. Tony sighed, and relented. He set Peter down on the floor, made sure he had his balance before drawing his hands back. Normally Peter would walk, but he was too excited to put the effort into it, and opted for crawling across the plush carpet. He could crawl pretty fast, all things considered.

Tony smiled a little, and followed, went back to the box he had been looking through. He found an address book in it, with the (probably outdated) numbers of plenty of people he _never_ wanted to speak to again, including one Tiberius Stone, and a couple of undeveloped rolls of film. He put the film in his ‘keep’ box, wondering what sorts of photos were on the rolls, and glanced over at Peter, who’d drifted from playing with a pile of old clothes to the box of old records at Tony’s side.

“What is?” Peter asked. His little hands were grasped around the cardboard flaps, and he peered into the box curiously.

“They’re records,” Tony said. “Music. They have songs on them.”

“Music!” Peter repeated, and shook the box a little. “Music!”

“You wanna hear one?” Tony guessed, reaching over to finger through the records. He’d found the record player in another box already. He had a pretty big collection, if he remembered correctly. This couldn’t have been the only box.

Peter hummed in agreement, wiggled a little in excitement.

Tony gave a huff of laughter. “Okay, honey. Pick one,” he suggested, tipping the box a little so Peter could look into it better.

The little boy looked through the first few records, took in the colorful album covers. He seemed to consider them intently, and Tony watched with a little smile. He liked watching Peter discover things. He could almost see the gears turning in his head, saw him absorb the information and make a calculated decision. Peter wasn’t always one for calculated decisions though, like when it came to play time. Sometimes he simply picked the first thing he laid eyes on, rushed in head first, like his father. It was interesting to consider how he took after both of them. Tony loved it, loved that he was a combination of their traits, but also loved the traits that belonged to Peter and Peter alone, like the way his brows would go up before he spoke, or the sound of his laugh.

Eventually, Peter settled on a record, and tugged the large square from the box.

Tony took it from him, and blinked down at the cover. “Fleetwood Mac, eh? You’ve got good taste, kiddo.”

Despite popular belief, Tony listened to several genres of music, instead of just classic rock. He had a real soft spot for Fleetwood Mac, found something enchanting in Stevie Nicks’ voice. He’d seen the band in New York in 1990, remembered swaying to ‘Dreams,’ a sense of ease and contentment overcoming him in an otherwise turbulent time. Sometimes he still listened to them, or found himself humming an old song in between his re-listens of AC/DC or Metallica. He also had an embarrassingly huge amount of 80’s music in FRIDAY’s system.

Peter seemed happy with his selection, and waited surprisingly patiently as Tony picked up the old record player and plugged it into the wall. He had to fiddle around with it for a minute or two, but got it going. His son crawled by his side in the meantime, tried to make sense of the strange object.

Peter let out a little “ooh,” as Tony pulled the vinyl disk out of its sleeve, and set it on the player.

“I’ve got just the song for you, Petey,” the brunet said, smiling. He adjusted the needle, and before they knew it, a happy little piano melody filled the air, the opening of ‘Hold Me.’

The toddler’s face lit up instantly, and he couldn’t help but move a little, settling in to the rhythm of the music.

_Can you understand me_

_Baby don’t you hand me a line_

_Although it doesn’t matter_

_You and me got plenty of time_

Tony laughed. “You like it?” he asked. He’d always been fond of the song too. It was simple, happy, but still earnest, like all of the band’s music was.

Peter’s expression was a cross between bewildered and excited as the chorus hit, and Tony really couldn’t stand sitting still anymore, and stood up. He was in a good mood, and loved the song too much not to dance to it. He pulled Peter up by the hands, and then gathered him into his arms, and swayed in time to the music, sang along to the lyrics. It’d been a while since he sang, thanks to quite a bit of stress and a busy schedule, and he had kind of missed it. There was something infectious about Fleetwood Mac that always got him to do it again, and he couldn’t stop himself now. Steve had mentioned that he liked Tony’s singing voice, on the few occasions he heard it, and Tony sort of lamented the fact that he wasn’t here now.

Steve always took a long time grocery shopping though, wanted to make sure he got the best stuff, especially where Peter was concerned. More than once, Steve had spent half an hour in the baby aisle debating between two identical products. But Tony loved him for that, loved that he took it so seriously. Steve was the most devoted father Tony had ever seen, and he _should_ be. Tony wouldn’t have accepted anything else.

“Hold me!” He sang, and dipped Peter, laughing at the squeal his little boy let out.

He turned a little, and a familiar, pleasant scent washed over him. He inhaled deeply, contentment settling in his chest, and just beneath the reasonably loud volume of the music, he could hear the bedroom door open.

Steve was there, his jacket and shoes still on, and fond surprise on his features. He took in the scene and smiled at them, at his family, who were surrounded by the chaos of scattered boxes and items, and dancing gleefully to an old song. The sight was so endearing that he could almost physically feel his heart swell, and he wondered how he could be so lucky, after everything that had happened. He didn’t think he deserved it.

“Hey Daddy!” Tony called out over the music, and held out a hand to Steve.

Steve crossed the room instantly, beckoned by Tony’s mere gesture, not even needing words. He would gladly follow Tony anywhere and everywhere, but especially loved being invited into his arms. Steve came close and wrapped an arm around him. Peter shifted in between their arms, so he could hold on to both of them, and the three of them rocked to the upbeat song, Tony singing along and Steve giving the two of them kisses between guitar riffs. Steve had never heard the song before, but he recognized the voices from a few songs Tony had played over the years, and liked it well enough. It was easy going, and happy, and he loved songs like that, regardless of genre.

By the end of the song, Peter had become familiar enough with the tune to try singing along, and when the little boy called out “Hold me!” Steve and Tony shared a glance, and a giggle.

Things weren’t always perfect, and sometimes there were days when nothing seemed to go right. There were times when they were tired, purely exhausted, and the weight of the world seemed infinitesimal to the weight of being a parent. There were times when things between _them_ weren’t ideal either, when they fell into the old pattern of argument, but moments like this made every struggle worth it, made up for countless lost hours of sleep or several life adjustments, or having to deal with Avenger work.

The troubles of the past, and even of the present seemed irrelevant in these moments, and Tony lived for them. What was the pain of a nightmare compared to the sound of his child’s laughter? What were the residual traces of fear or hatred compared to the warmth in a devoted mate’s touch, and the countless apologetic gestures he’d received since reconciliation? Tony was perfectly happy where he was at, and he never wanted to lose that feeling.

“Hold me!” Peter repeated, even though the song had ended, and the record was drifting into the next one. He grasped at the collar of Steve’s t-shirt. “Hold Mommy!”

“I’m holding you,” Steve replied, his blue eyes warm and soft.

He’d never felt so satisfied, so _whole_ , as when the three of them were close together like this. He still couldn’t believe he was here, after all this time. He’d never imagined feeling so happy, so perfect, especially given the mistakes he’d made, the suffering they’d endured. Steve would never make a mistake like that again. He knew his place, and it was right here, protecting, _loving_ his family, his home.

He brushed a hand through Peter’s curls, and nuzzled the bond mark on Tony’s neck. “And I’m _never_ letting you go.”

**Author's Note:**

> You have no idea how much I'm itching to write kid fics lol. My baby fever is insane and will never be quenched. Also surprise!! I literally just uploaded a fic yesterday and I'm posting this today?! Wild. I'm actually a little shocked at how quick I wrote this, it took like 3 hours. Just too excited I guess. Hope you like this! We'll get back to our regularly scheduled angst soon ;)
> 
> Please leave a comment!


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